Zero Hour - Chapter One
by Scuba Steve
Summary: Twenty five years after the Battle of Endor, the New Republic is forced to halt its war with the Yuuzhan Vong to stop a new threat.


  
he stars twinkled a dim shade of white through the transparisteel viewport. The only sound on the bridge of Old Republic Dreadnaught Subjugator was the faint whirring of the triangular mouse droids as they busily cleaned the floor and the occasional blip from the helmsman's computer consoles. "Your, Excellency, all the ships are ready, and the scouts are secure."  
"Where?" came the reply.  
"There, sir," said Supreme Overseer Da'rath, pointing out a viewport on the starboard side of the ship. Through the blackness of space, hundreds of ships of all models could be made out. "Awaiting your command." The ships hung listlessly in space, not moving. One would think them to be abandoned except for the faint light of engines on the lowest setting. In front of the ships, the ice blue waters of Sor Bladeski cut through the dark, looking so peaceful.  
High Executor Jos'el sighed in a moment of consideration. With one fist placed deftly under his chin, the executor simply stared at his ships. He smiled grimly to himself. This would be their day. After lying in wait for many years, the Yondolians would ascend to a level above all the pitiful humanoids that ran rampant throughout the galaxy. Soon, the New Republic would fall, and out of its ashes a new leader would arise to salvage the remnants of the galaxy, and bring order to the chaos that rocked the outer rim. With a nod, Jos'el turned toward his Overseer. "Do it," he said.  
Da'rath smiled widely. "Thank you, sir," he said, "for giving me this honor." And with that, he quickly strode over to the comm officer. "B'rendak sun di'yoew cosyeago," he said. "Open a channel to the fleet."  
The officer calmly pressed a button, and an image of Da'rath appeared on the holo-monitor of every ship in the Yondolian fleet. "The time has come. Deploy," he said in his native tongue. With that, thousands of tiny plasteel projectiles-somewhat resembling old Imperial Probe Droids--launched out of the bellies of the many ships. "Go," said Da'rath's image, and then it abruptly faded out. As the last scout launched from Subjugator, the ship lurched as the stars transformed into starlines, and then faded into the purple of mottled space.  
Jos'el turned to regard Da'rath as he approached. "Well?" he said.  
"They are away," he said. "Do not worry, Excellency. We will prevail."  
"And the prisoner?"  
"It is currently in security deck 12 and under constant surveillance," said Da'rath.  
"Good, see that it is properly…interrogated."  
"Yes, Excellency."  
Jos'el smiled tightly. "Your service does not go without reward. When I return from my meeting with the human Ambassador Solo, you will be honored properly."  
"Thank you, Sire. Your ship awaits you at home," Da'rath said dramatically.  
  
Back on Sor Bladeski, thousands of probes rained from the sky and plunged deep into the ocean planet's waters, embedding themselves into the soil miles beneath the surface. Deep under the milky white sand that layered the outer core of the planet, the Yondolian scouts dug toward the steel girders that held the underwater metropolis in place. Simultaneously, the eyeport at the top of their domed heads glowed red. Then, lasers broke through, turning the surrounding sand into glass as they burned into the city's supports. The metal began to bubble, then cut away, until finally they ceased to anchor the city.  
Still, more scouts hailed down upon the water, diving down toward the city of Montaré. Before anyone could understand what was happening, the second wave of scouts had surrounded the exit harbors. From the bellies of the probes came a dark, pitch-black fluid that coated the walls of Montaré and seeped through its pores. Even as the Bladeskians began to pound on the harbor gates, the fluid rapidly hardened into concrete, effectively sealing them inside.  
The fishlike people that inhabited the underwater cities could do nothing but watch as the scouts uprooted the city's anchors and left the city to float slowly upward, toward the surface. People dashed madly for the ports into the safe ocean, but the scouts were still a move ahead. The barriers had been sealed shut with the viscous fluid that dripped from the seals. Mobs pounded in futility against the walls, desperate for escape; too late.  
That fluid, however, was not strong enough to ward off the lessening pressure as the entire city neared the surface. The screams were so loud they could be heard clearly outside the confines of the buildings. The walls groaned under the strain as the oxygen inside expanded. Outside, thin jets of air could be seen escaping into the water. The screams grew louder and more desperate, and suddenly, silenced as the metal gave way and the civilization was lost.  
Those who survived the initial explosion did not have a much brighter future than their companions who didn't. Being naturally evolved to the high-pressure atmosphere around their city, those who made it out into the water floated up into the surface, only to explode themselves as the oxygen in their lungs expanded too quickly for their bodies to control.  
The scouts, which were pre-programmed, self-destructed immediately following the explosions. The remains of the strange ships blended in perfectly with the rest of the city, and slowly sank to the bottom of the ocean. When quiet returned to the land, all that was left of the Bladeskians was a floating mass of metal and flesh. Their only mark on the planet they once called home was a rapidly fading red pool of blood in the crystal blue water that covered the entire planet.  
  
Executor Jos'el stood nervously on the bridge of the Subjugator, his gaze transfixed on the glowing mess of hyperspace outside. He could hear the faint tapping of boots growing louder as Da'rath came to him. "We'll be exiting hyperspace in a few moments, sire," he said.  
"Very well," Jos'el replied. "And what of our attack?"  
"We won't know anything until we drop back into normal space."  
"Standby for sublight speed!" called out the navigation officer, as Jos'el turned to regard him. But before Jos'el could get a word in, the purple haze outside had already dispersed and turned into starlines. Da'rath walked coolly to the comm station.  
"Sir, we have a transmission from Sor Bladeski," Da'rath said urgently. "The attack went flawlessly. The planet is destroyed and all scouts have self-destructed as programmed," he replied proudly. The Overseer smiled at the victory, confident that the day of reckoning had come at last. Finally, the humans would be swatted out of the galaxy like flies. It was only a matter of time now. The humans would pay dearly…and their prisoner would be the first.  
"Excellent! Now, take me to the prisoner," the Executor exclaimed.  
"B-but…why?" the Overseer asked, clearly confused by the order.  
"You will see," smiled Jos'el.  
"Yes, sire," said Da'rath. "Follow me, please." Da'rath led the Executor through a series of intricately designed hallways and tunnels into the sewers that ran deep inside the belly of the ship. At last, they rounded a corner into the detention block, where five guards were stationed, weapons at the ready.  
The detention block reeked of garbage. It was a small, dimly lit room with doors on three walls and one lone computer console in the center. Through the back wall, there were stairs, which led into a darkened corridor with cells on both sides. Two guards stood on either side of the corridor, another two were stationed at the entrance to the block and the highest-ranking soldier monitored the prisoner's vital statistics in the center of the room.  
The four gateway guards were all uniformly dressed in black body suits with red tunics draped over their shoulders. Each bore a symbol on their chest that resembled a crosshatched delta letter that had been rotated ninety degrees. The helmets they wore were a red plastoid material that glistened even in the dimly lit room. The helmets were long and oval shaped, with a long cut through the center that expanded horizontally at the top, allowing their fanged mouth, nose and eyes to be seen.  
The guard in the center stiffened visibly at the sight of Jos'el. "Excellency!" he shouted, jumping out of his chair and falling to his knees. The other guards, who did not realize what was going on until he spoke, followed him half a step behind.  
"As you were," Jos'el sneered. He resented the foolishness of such formality. "Has the prisoner been processed yet?"  
"Not as yet, Sire," said the first guard. "Her…ah 'interrogation' was to be carried out tonight."  
"I would like to see it," Jos'el said dryly.  
Jos'el was led down the narrow corridor by two of the guards to one of the royalty cells. The guard to his right tapped a few numbers on the combination lock and hit the release. The locks separated with three loud "clunk clunks" and the door slid to the left. The room was brightly lit in contrast to the dark hallway, with a single bunk attached to the wall. The walls were a solid gray, with no decorations to entertain its "guest."  
The guard stepped back, his weapon drawn to give Jos'el a better view. Jos'el's yellow eyes searched the small room from one corner to the other until they fixed on a single form. A human girl dressed simply in a dark navy blue jumpsuit with three sky blue striped streaking diagonally across her chest sat uncomfortably with her knees pressed against her chest. She did not move, except to glare fearfully into the eyes of the Executor. She would be considered beautiful, Jos'el knew, by human standards, but just the same, she was repulsive to any respectable Yondolian. She was small, with a thin, curvaceous figure and golden blonde hair.  
Jos'el smiled, he would enjoy this. "D'art, cowh si'bracken,"he said in his native Yonga.  
"I-I'm sorry," she stammered, her matted platinum hair falling in front of her face. "I don't speak-"  
"I am the Executor, Jos'el," he cut her off.  
"What do you want from me?" she asked meekly.  
Once again, Jos'el smiled. "Nothing," he stated. "I've merely come to speak with you."  
"But why?" she began. "I don't know anything! I'm just a fighter pilot from Coruscant!"  
"Precisely why you must be executed," he countered.  
"Executed?" she exclaimed, shocked beyond belief. She rose to her feet to meet his gaze. The Yondolians were not a tall species, and Jos'el was no exception. Her eyes easily leveled with his, even with her short, 5'3" figure. She didn't have a chance to get all the way up before the Executor, realizing she meant to disrespect him by standing on the same level as he, sent her into the wall with a firm backhand. Her golden mane whipped around as she fell face first into the wall, barely managing to catch herself mid-fall.  
Jos'el grinned insanely, his head dipping to get a better view of her face. She gracefully pushed herself against the wall and turned back to him, the tears of pain stinging her eyes. He silently applauded her restraint and self-control. "Do you think yourself to be equal to I?" he asked menacingly as he approached her, forcing her down to the floor verbally.  
"No, sir," she said, the tears welling up now.  
"Then how dare you show such disrespect?" he shouted, her tears finally running down her pale cheeks. She could bear no more, and she buried her face in her hands, her shoulders bobbing up and down. She sobbed quietly, trying to control herself.  
"Please!" she managed between sobs. "Please don't kill me…I'll do anything!"  
The Yondolian considered that for a moment, pondering if she could give them anything they might need. But just as quickly as the thought entered his mind, he dismissed it. To ally with a human would be to dishonor his Yondolian pride and the Master.  
He turned away from the girl and moved to the exit. "Make it quick," he said to one of the guards as he brushed past. The guards' shoulders slackened in confusion.  
"But, Sire," he started, "the girl was to be tortured before-"  
He was silenced by a glare from Jos'el. "I said…make it quick."  
"Y-yes, sir," the guard agreed. With that, Jos'el strode out of the detention block with Da'rath in pursuit. With his back turned to the girl, he produced a small, sleek metallic blade. In his inattentiveness, he failed to hear the second unsheathe his own blade.  
The guard turned around to find his companion lying against the wall on the right side, his throat slashed and the girl gone. Before he could respond, the young woman rushed him from his left with his colleague's knife in hand. With all the quickness from many hours of practice, his blaster came down. Not fast enough, he soon found the knife thrust into his chest and the blaster wrenched from his hand. As he died, he could only smile in silent admiration of the young lady.  
The girl caught him before he could hit the ground and quietly lowered him to the floor. She knew she had only moments before the other guards would get suspicious and come to check on their friends. She had to act fast.  
What to do? What to do? First thing's first, she told herself mentally. She deftly picked up both guards' blasters and knives. She had only two options, but since she couldn't speak Yondolian, she decided the best thing to do would be to try to take them by surprise. Nervously, she tucked a blaster and one of the knives into her belt. Her hands wrapped tightly around a blaster and a knife as she tiptoed to the door.  
Taking a deep breath and putting all doubts in her mind aside, the dived out of her open cell, rolling to the center of the corridor. At the same time, she launched the knife in her hand out toward the guard in the center of the room, catching him by surprise. When he looked up to see the source of the clatter, his hand instinctively went for the alarm. Unfortunately for him, though, he was to slow. He slumped forward as the blade shoved itself into his throat, eliciting a futile gurgle from him as he fell backwards.  
The mysterious pilot grabbed the other blaster from her belt. No slip-ups, she could not afford them. Quietly, she crouched low in the center of the floor, waiting for the last two. Being the gentlemen they were, they didn't keep her waiting long.  
Blindly, they rushed into battle. With the two blasters already aimed down the hall, she saw two heads appear almost simultaneously at the bottom of the stairs. A loud twang reverberated twice through the hallway, and the air suddenly reeked of ozone. The two Yondolians pitched backwards as the purple lasers connected with their heads in a brilliant display of light. Sparks flew in all directions as the sheer intensity of the blasts punched a hole through their helmets and bore into their skulls. Two shots two kills.  
The young girl rose to full height, barring her feelings of guilt for the lost warriors. She had never been violent, but her New Republic basic training had somehow kicked in and taken over. Then she collapsed back to the ground in a fit of sobs. Why was this happening to her?  
  
The Subjugator slowly approached the planet of Yondoa 1 within the confines of real space. The comm station once again flickered to life at the hailing of the space dock they were nearing. All of the sudden, a Yondolian's image flickered onto the holo-screen. The warrant officer looked like a typical Yondolian, short with dark brown fur covering his body. His eyes glowed an eerie purple, even through the static, and his long arms flowed down his torso, ending in a pair of razor sharp claws.  
"This is Captain Na'an of Yondolian space dock Nagul," he said threateningly. "State your name and purpose."  
Da'rath shook his head, the corners of his lips curling into a tight smile. "This is Yondolian-Dreadnaught Subjugator, requesting permission to dock," said the comm officer smoothly.  
"Please transmit your identification…now," Captain Na'an said, waiting for his computer to download the necessary data. On the other end of the line, the captain watched the small bar in the upper right hand corner of his screen slowly scroll all the way across, and then as the new window opened up, showing him the ship's ID. A loud gasp was audible from the captain as he read the passenger list. "Uh…permission granted; you would be escorted into bay one-fifteen."  
"Thank you," said the comm officer as he leaned back in his chair. He had done his part; navigation would take the ship in, while he "monitored" the comm channels for another few minutes until docking. Da'rath allowed himself another smirk at the warrant officer's expense.  
The Overseer peered out the transparisteel bridge at the space dock. He held his hands tightly behind his back, while at the same time absent-mindedly scratching his long claws together. At last he turned around to the lax comm officer. "Inform Executor Jos'el that we've arrived," he said curtly.  
"Yes, sir," said the comm officer, jolting back to uprightness and attention as he keyed in the necessary codes. He lowered his voice as he explained to the Executor that they were ready to begin disembarking. Da'rath turned back around, allowing the usual clicks, whirs, beeps, and small chatter to block out the comm officer's voice.  
Da'rath turned around as he heard the bridge door swoosh open. Jos'el strode into the room, dressed in his usual black robe, the end flowing behind him. Da'rath gave a slight nod as his friend entered the room. "We'll be docking momentarily," he informed the Executor. "Your shuttle leaves when you are ready; Councilor Solo is awaiting your arrival at Yavin."  
"Excellent," Jos'el grinned, then turned to watch as a long tube with a circular opening extended toward the Subjugator and sealed into place on the hull door. A loud hiss sounded, signaling that the passageway had been filled with precious oxygen. With a second hiss, the bridge emergency escape door opened, and two Yondolian guards stepped to either side, waiting for Jos'el.  
"After you," said Da'rath.  
"Thank you," replied the Executor as he made his way through the passage onto the space dock, followed closely by the two guards. Da'rath quickly caught up, but did not say anything. Jos'el gratefully took the few moments to ponder the events that had occurred today. Nothing could ever be the same now; their turn was over. The next move belonged to the Republic, which they despised so much. He hoped that by meeting with the human vermin, he might be able to determine what that next move may be.  
Soon, they had entered the space station. It was clear that this was not the type of place Jos'el favored. His face crinkled where his nose should have been, if the Yondolians had one. Instead, the pungent stench of the place stung the nostril that substituted for his nose. The walls in the place seemed to ooze foul green mixture that rusted the metallic walls. "Where is my shuttle," Jos'el asked, eager to get out of this festering hole.  
"This way, Sire," said Da'rath, walking left down a narrow hallway. At the end of the hallway, Jos'el found himself in the middle of a bustling concourse full of Yondolians. He was led into one of the adjoining corridors that led into another docking bay. Jos'el took note that there were an astounding number of starfighters in dock. Nearly fifteen in this bay alone by his count. Before he could finish his calculations, he spotted his personal shuttle at the end of the bay.  
He made his way over to the ship as fast as he could. This place somehow made him feel less than comfortable. "Good trip, Sire," Da'rath said with a bow of his head. And with that, he and the two guards that had followed them from the Subjugator had left. Gone without a word. Jos'el about-faced and headed up the landing ramp.  
  
Emmy ducked back behind a wall quickly. She was on the run, if they found her now, they wouldn't hesitate to immediately carry out the sentence that had been handed down to her by Executor Jos'el earlier. She wasn't about to let that happen. When she thought the Yondolian had passed, she emerged from her hiding spot near the turbolift. So far, nobody had come looking for her, so they must not have found the bodies she had thrown into the garbage chute.  
It was amazing that she had somehow managed to make it this far without getting caught. By the design of her former cell, her New Republic history told her that this was an Old Republic Dreadnaught. That meant the docking bays were at the top of the ship. Unfortunately, that also meant her cell had been close to the very bottom decks. She was on deck 21 now, so unless they'd changed the entire frame of the ship, she only needed to get up two more levels before she could escape.  
Poking her head out around the corner, Emmy clutched her blaster tightly in her right hand. She made sure to look in all directions before emerging from her hiding spot. The coast was clear. With a deep breath, Emmy crouched down low and walked briskly on her toes toward one of the ramps that led up.  
Keeping one blaster in her hand and the other safely tucked away inside her belt, Emmy quietly went up the ramp. Her eyes darted from this way to that, searching for enemies that weren't there. Yet she told herself. She made her way past another sliding door, and she looked up to see what deck that led to. Twenty-one, only one more. One more and then the hard part began. With more speed and swiftness than before, she began the climb up to the twenty-first floor.  
Even with the dim lighting of the stair ramp, Emmy kept close to the wall. She didn't want to take any unnecessary risks. All of the sudden, she thought she heard voices coming from below. In an instant, she halted completely. Her body went completely rigid to the point that she barely breathed.  
Her knuckles began to turn white as she unconsciously tightened her grip on the blaster in her right hand. The voices grew steadily louder while she waited. For a moment, she pondered setting her blaster to stun. Deciding that was better than the loud lasers that a normal blaster would emit, she slowly grasped the small knob sticking out of the foreign blaster between her left thumb and forefinger. She silently cursed as she tried to decipher the setting markings, which were all in Yonga.  
Resigning herself to an educated guess, Emmy turned the dial all the way down in the opposite direction than it had been set before. She crouched low in the shadow of one of curves in the narrow ramp. Mentally, Emmy braced herself for what could be her final moments. I wish-she didn't have time to finish the thought. The two chattering Yondolians finally came into full view.  
Emmy's muscles tightened as she watched the two as they came closer. They were heading straight toward her. Res'luk raf she said mentally, suddenly remembering the old Trandoshan curse. Closer, closer they came. But to her confusion, neither stopped talking, nor seemed to notice her at all for that matter.  
She was about to make her move, but the two guards passed casually by her and continued on their way. What the…she wondered to herself. Why hadn't they attacked? They had to have noticed her. The wall's shadow didn't offer that much cover.  
There was no time to thing about that now, though. She needed to get upstairs to deck twenty-one. Whatever the reason they had spared her for, she didn't have time to think about. It had been nearly three hours since she had escaped her cell. It was only a matter of time before somebody noticed that the prison regiment had not reported in yet. Then, she knew someone would have to check on them. And then every soldier on this ship would be hunting for her head.  
She leaned her head out of the shadows cautiously. She couldn't hear anything unusual. That didn't really mean a whole lot, though, since there could be guards stationed anywhere on this ship. And if they were well trained, they would know to be totally silent and still at all times. Sighing to herself, Emmy's thoughts drifted back to how she had ended up in this pit in the first place.  
It had been four days ago that she'd arrived at her home planet of Trago III. Trago was a small planet on the far rim. Populated by only about a million people worldwide and full of lush gardens and beautiful landscape. Emmy had left it and her family behind when she was only sixteen to become a New Republic fighter pilot.  
When she was a girl, she had heard stories of her uncle, Jon Vander. According to her father, he'd been one of the best Y-Wing pilots the Rebellion had in their ranks. He was one of the brave pilots who had led the Rebel assault on the first Death Star. Sadly, her uncle had been shot down while making an attack run in the Death Star trench. Ever since she had first heard that story, she knew she belonged in the cockpit of a fighter.  
She'd just finished her first year as a pilot when she had come home. Unfortunately for her, the day after she had arrived, the Yondolians had overrun the planet with droid warriors and she had been taken captive. Without a word, she'd been locked safely away in a prison cell, and up until a few hours ago, had not spoken to anyone since her arrival.  
No, she couldn't think about any of that right now. She needed to concentrate on the task at hand. Shaking off any stray thoughts, she restarted her slow climb up the stairs.  
Her once shiny black boots made a quiet tapping sound on the steel floor. Tap tap tap…Almost there. Just a few more seconds. Up ahead, she saw the sliding steel door with a panel placed above it. Now she was getting somewhere. She calmly made her way toward the door.  
She was not but five feet away from it when suddenly she halted in mid step. Something was not quite right. She gave the area a quick glance over to make sure there were no surprises waiting for her. Nothing. At least, nothing she could see. Still, that didn't do much to ease her mind. Emmy exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding as she completed the step she had just halted in the middle of. Another step and finally she was at the door. Most likely, there would be more Yondolians behind that door. Unfortunately, this was her only escape route. She would have to take her chances and hope that nobody spotted her as she came in.  
Her hand quivered visibly in the cold ship air as she reached for the door release lever. Surprisingly, the handle moved with relative ease. That only added further to the knowledge that this was a ship that had been well taken care of over the years. It was already blatantly obvious from the way the floors and walls showed not even the slightest bit of wear or rust. The grayish-black tiles of the floor still sparkled and shone in the walkways. Yes, this ship had been more than well maintained.  
The door swung open slowly, silently. Keeping her cautious air, Emmy barely poked her head inside the hangar bay to see if the coast was clear. And with the speed and swiftness of a Noghri Commando, she had entered the bay and was crouched behind a power generator in the corner of the room. She could feel her heart thudding loudly in her chest. Gathering her courage, she took a deep breath and wiped a bit of perspiration off of her forehead.  
When she had rushed inside the room, her Republic training had allowed her to make a quick survey of the area. There were two guards lounging in the control room. Another two were patrolling the outer perimeter of the hangar while various techs and maintenance droids made upgrades and repairs on a few of the fighters.  
She had already chosen a ship to take. Not wanting to gamble that the Yondolian ships might take a little while to learn to use, she saw an old Z-95 Headhunter in the back of the bay. From the looks of the thing, it appeared to have been also heavily altered and modified. That was no surprise considering what they had done to the Dreadnaught she was on.  
Hopefully, they hadn't changed the controls much. Otherwise it would just be that much harder for her to get out of here. It was a simple task to make her way to the cockpit ladder, and once she was there, getting into the cockpit was a cinch.  
Luckily, no one had spotted her. It was almost unbelievable the amount of luck she'd had. Emmy allowed herself a moment to study the controls. Good she thought. Nothing's really changed. Now the fun begins.   
The tech that was eight ships to the left of the Headhunter heard it first--the faint whine of repulsorlifts. Jerking his head up, he saw Emmy's Z-95 lift up off of the floor and move toward the rectangle in the wall that led to deep space.  
"Bya'kdr nu gi'gump'om!" he shouted.  
Taking that as her cue to leave, Emmy keyed in the sublight drive and blasted out into the openness of space. She smiled to herself, it was almost over. Still, though, she had that nagging feeling at the back of her mind. Like something wasn't quite right. "Oh no," she breathed.  
Suddenly, it was all too clear what was wrong. Outside her viewport, two Yondolian fighters came screaming towards her, weapons blazing. Her reflexes once again kicked in and she keyed the nav-computer to plot a course for Chandrila. Hopefully her squadron was still stationed in orbit there. She blew out another bit of air. All she had to do was hold them for another 31 seconds. Easier said than done she thought frantically.  
The ship rocked as another sapphire blue laser struck the starboard side and burned away into the shields. Another hit to that side and she was done for. She knew it was all over when a third blast landed on the forward shields and took out the starboard shields. The indicator light flashed red on her computer. And then, abruptly, it winked back to green. What?  
She pulled the ship hard into a thirty-five degree barrel roll to the right. Another laser lanced out just over the spot where she had been. The Yondolians were good, her attackers weren't fooled either; they were on her tail in a heartbeat. A quick jerk of the controls sent the modified Z-95 up and around their line of fire. Just a few more seconds. The Yondolians were once again on her tail, blasting to their hearts content.  
The indicator flashed to red again, this time on the aft side, and then changed back to green. What was going on here? There wasn't time to worry about it, though. The nav-computer beeped and a female computerized voice broke the verbal silence of the cockpit. "Course confirmed, entering hyperspace," it said mechanically. Before Emmy could reach to touch the hyperspace lever, the stars had disappeared and mottled space had taken over her view. They really had modified this ship: computerized hyperdrive and everything.  
Emmy slumped back in her chair, visibly relieved at being away from the Yondolians. She tapped a button on the hyperdrive panel and again the computerized voice came back. "Course confirmed. One hour till destination," it said. Must be close she thought. Soon she would be able to give her full report to Coruscant, and then this whole ordeal would be over with. No, that wasn't true. Something told her that it was just beginning.  
  
High Overseer Da'rath watched the brief firefight from the command bridge of the Subjugator. It was a one sided fight; the human didn't even bother trying to fire at the two Yondolian Krriek fighters in front of her. Not that it would have done any good. Those were their best pilots out there; no one could stop them-unless, of course, they wanted to be stopped. The battle was growing boring, the human was doing its best to out maneuver his pilots, but simple human tricks were no match for the speed of a Krriek. When Da'rath finally grew tired of it, the Z-95 disappeared into hyperspace.  
"Sir, the human has just made the jump into hyperspace," the tactical engineer called from the port crew pit.  
"Thank you, Lieutenant," Da'rath replied coolly. He was dimly aware of Commander Banok's approach toward him. "Yes, Commander?" Da'rath asked, not moving from the bridge viewport.  
"Sir, if you'll permit me," he said softly. "Why was it so important to let the human escape?"  
"Why?" Da'rath scoffed. "Because the Master wants it that way."  
Banok swallowed the lump that had suddenly developed in his throat. "Ah…yes, sir," was all he could manage. "Shall I call the sentry squadrons in, sir?" he asked, eager to change the subject.  
"Yes," Da'rath replied. "Then inform the spacedock that we will be leaving their orbit," he continued.  
"What course shall we set, sir?" the Commander inquired.  
"Bastion," Da'rath said icily  



End file.
